Walking Out
by gypsypower
Summary: I don't want to walk out of this door and never see you again. But that's exactly what you did. OC. Casey's POV of Olivia's disappearance.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Except a banjo and some really used running shoes. Sue me for them. ;)

**Spoilers and A/N: **This is going to be 2 "installments." The first is centered on Olivia leaving to work for the Feds. The second is centered on her return (and Casey's rage-fit, "Are you a little rusty?!"). This assumes Olivia and Casey were involved and (at least) Elliot knew, but others suspected. I have not written in a while and may decide to stick to more reading than writing. Let me know what you think.

"_I don't want to walk out of this door and never see you again."_

Life likes to think it is funny though, doesn't it? So does human memory. For example, I can't remember how the argument started, only the end. Only the perching on the edge of my coffee table, willing myself not to cry, not to crack in front of you, and concentrating on the growing numbness in my right foot as distraction. Only you twisting my key off your keychain and laying it on the counter. I remember that action shattering every semblance of control I had over my emotions as one tear escaped—and the carefully constructed dam of control was demolished. You watching me cry for a minute before sighing, _sighing_, and coming over to hold me. I hate crying alone, let alone in front of people. Yet, I remember crying while you held me. Bitter tears, a torrent of emotions mixed with the snot and thick saliva I was leaking everywhere. Muscles spasming and throat constricting against my will as I cried dry all my body would produce. I remember going to blow my nose in the bathroom, consciously avoiding the mirror. I knew my eyes were swollen and sore, knew my face was covered in red splotches, without needing to witness my fall. I came back out and you were standing with your hand on the doorknob, "Look at us. What are we doing here Casey? I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to hurt you. I have to go, but I think we really need to sit down and talk tomorrow. I don't want to walk out of this door and never see you again."

But that's exactly what you did.

I tried to call you later that night, and you didn't answer your cell phone. I knew you had a sting with the Feds, but that didn't stop me from trying to call every hour until I eventually passed out from crying, exhaustion, and despair. The next morning I could barely haul myself out of the bed. My head felt like someone had replaced my brain with cotton-balls and jackhammers. I also knew no amount of makeup would ever conceal the effect crying had rendered on my eyes. My mind played a million different scenarios of why you didn't call me back, and my job lends far too many details for such pessimistic thoughts. At this point, I was sure it was because you were pissed off at me; if something happened to you and I wasn't notified, Elliot knew he'd regret ever being born. I wanted to call you, but you obviously didn't want to talk on the phone. Plus, I needed to see you after our goodbye last night. I needed to see that you were ok. I decided to deal with being late to work and surprise you with coffee at the precinct.

When I walked in, half a dozen coffees teetering precariously in hand (I was amazed by how quickly I learned the specifics of everyone's coffee likes), I was met by four pairs of staring eyes. For a second, I was transported back to high school and wondering if I had left the house without any clothes on. I remember glancing down to double check. "Hey guys, if you stare too long, you'll ruin your eyes." When Munch didn't even have a retort, I knew something was wrong. I set the coffee down and looked around the room. Elliot was staring somewhere just beyond my right shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck, Fin had become intrigued by the zipper pull on his leather jacket, Cragen was periodically switching between watching his shoes and glancing at me, and Munch was being Munch. "Where's Olivia?" I hate asking questions I don't want the answer to. My voice comes out squeezed. Munch had started in on a rant about conspiracy and government bullshit at the same time Cragen called me into his office.

"You haven't been by the DA's office yet, have you?"

I shook my head and weakly motioned towards the coffees on Olivia's desk. I heard Cragen sigh and felt myself starting to be pulled down a large tunnel. "Captain, where's Olivia?!" I sounded a bit shrill and panicked. I don't know what I was hoping for at that point.

"…I … maybe you should sit down Casey … Olivia is …"

I didn't hear the rest. My mind went static-y and my eyes filled with gray spots. All I could hear was blood rushing around my ears and head and air struggling into my lungs. I had to physically hold a hand up to motion Cragen to give me a minute. Funny, how I thought a minute would suffice. He hadn't seen my silent gesture though, and I could hear him rambling still when my ears finally cleared.

"… not sure when she will be back. They won't even tell us where they positioned her for assignment. They are good. Elliot went by her apartment, and it is already cleared out. Her cell phone is disconnected too. We had no say in this matter … Casey … It was her choice to go. I don't like it, but all I can do now is hope she stays safe undercover and gets back to us soon … Arthur called shortly before you came in. He suggested that you take a day off and catch up on paperwork. … I'm sorry Casey."

I think I had slipped into mild shock. You weren't dead. You were alive. You were gone. I thanked the Captain and numbly walked out of the office. I didn't want to see the looks Elliot, Munch, and Fin were trying not to give me and failing miserably at. I kept my face a sturdy mask as I told them to enjoy their coffees and call my cell if they had any urgent business. I felt Elliot following me out to the front steps of the precinct.

"You gonna be ok Casey?"

"Sure, Elliot. Just dandy. Why wouldn't I be anything other than fine? Because my girlfriend and I had the most ambiguously ending goodbye ever last night, and now she is gone? Because she left without letting me know? Because even when Alex-fucking-Cabot went into Witness Protection she demanded to tell you and Olivia, but Olivia couldn't be bothered to even leave me a note or a voice-mail? Because she told me she didn't want to walk out the door and never see me again, but that is exactly what happened? Yeah. Sure. I'm fan-_fucking_-tastic." Ok. I hadn't really intended for all of that to come rushing increasingly more loudly out. Elliot had no response to that, not that I expected him to. "Look Elliot … I'm sorry. I just need time to process this." I assured him I would call if I needed to.

I remember walking back to my apartment. My body was numb when I got there. I don't know whether it was from the wind chill or the shock. I sat in the shower and cried until the water turned from scalding to lukewarm and finally ran cold. I knew I'd have to face reality the next day. I knew I didn't know how to do that without you around anymore. I spent the entire restless night vacillating between extreme despair because you were gone and intense burning anger that you lied to my face. Part of me knew you didn't have control over not saying goodbye. But a different part of me knew that if Cabot had coerced the WP people, you certainly could have gotten a letter through to me. Couldn't you have? I didn't know the answer to that, and I didn't know that I wanted to. Maybe this was your way of telling me we were finally over. I had no idea what to do. I mean, what does one do in a situation like this? The only thing any of us can ever do – cope.

The next morning, I woke up. The world was still existing around me without you. I took my shower, made coffee for one. I put on my best good soldier face and went to work. The day happened. I came home, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized I wouldn't get to vent to you or even hug you. I willed it to keep beating, made myself dinner, and worked until exhaustion claimed me on the couch. I kept doing that. Over and over. I never got "better" or "over it," but I learned to ignore it. I learned to surrender. I eventually learned to sleep in the bed alone again. I stopped playing the "what if" game with myself … for the most part. I was an almost fully functioning human being. Almost. And then, as unexpectedly as you had walked out of my life, you sauntered right back in.

So … is it even worth the second chapter?


	2. Chapter 2

Once again the question fills the room as discreetly as the proverbial white elephant. What are we doing here? What am I doing here? You came pushing through those courtroom doors, and it was as if a photograph blew in on a breeze. I was looking at you, but at the same time it wasn't you. I somehow thought I would feel differently, feel anything. I guess that would require the ability to do so anymore. Slowly I had given that up, along with hope that you would be back. I can remember the day you died in my mind. I have always known you were not literally dead, but several months ago I had come to view you as such. I had to in order to save myself.

I had gone for a jog in the park—no, a run. Dusk was just peeping in, and I vaguely remember wondering if it was too late to head out alone. Not enough to not go though. I had intended to go for a short, quick three mile trot, but somewhere around mile two-and-a-half I zoned out and kept on running. I wasn't concerned at all, actually the opposite; I was enjoying the feeling of a longer run. I have always loved running in the dark. It makes me feel sleek, graceful, fast. I feel like a panther when I run in the dark—not the clodhopper I actually am. Something about the dark conceals my natural clumsiness, at least that's what I like to think. Then, I heard rustling in the bushes and a chain rattling. I tried to tell myself it was nothing. But, I started realizing how dark it was and how far away from my apartment I was. I heard the noise again. Almost like someone was pausing in the bushes and then following me. My heart starting pounding like to rip through my ribcage and take off on its own. I tried to rationalize my situation and just kept trotting towards the nearest exit to the street. I tried to push the images of someone springing from the bushes, someone overpowering me in my fatigued state, someone violating me out of my mind. It was one of the moments I really, _really_ cursed my job for providing such graphic details to my panicked mind. All the while, tugging at my mind was that you weren't here to rescue me. Not necessarily from an assailant in the park, even if you were here you wouldn't know I was running in the dark alone despite all the cases I tried that warned me against this. But the afterwards part. I tried to imagine myself calling Elliot or Munch, having them take my statement, see me, see pictures of my pain, and witness me in states of weaknesses. I couldn't even fathom picking up the phone for them. I realized you weren't around to even pick up pieces. I knew I had to get over expecting you to come back to my rescue. Right then, something in me broke.

I made it home safely. It turns out my "stalker" had been a trail race official stapling up course markers for a race. But, that didn't resolve what had happened during my panic. I stopped running at dusk alone. I had reminded myself of a story I heard about one of my cousins. From a family in the country, he was fond of hunting. Then, one day he was driving home in the old Chevy with his father and a deer darted out. The poor thing broke its leg and was suffering on the side of the road. They knew they couldn't leave it suffering, but they didn't have a gun with them. My cousin had ended up holding the creature's head while his dad slit its throat so it would pass away quickly. He stopped hunting after that. I don't know how I made the connection, but I saw myself as the deer that night. I couldn't bring myself to go out running alone anymore. Literally and figuratively. I couldn't keep placing myself out there in unreliable situations. I knew you couldn't save me, so I wouldn't risk it. Part of me knew this was irrational--all of it. My fear, and my delusion that you were dead. But … I had to move on though. I had to get over the longing for you to come swaying through the doors.

So I did. It didn't hurt any less. I just slowly and effectively rid myself of the notion that you would return, that you would be around to rescue me. Or miss me if something happened to me. You had died, and I had half-followed you.

Then, I needed you. Well, not me, but I needed you to come help someone else. It was imperative. I fought for your resurrection. You had left me without ever even trying to contact me, but I knew you couldn't let down a victim. They were always more important to you than I was. I knew that from the start; it's what made you such a great cop--less than stellar girlfriend, but great cop. It wasn't like I was up for "free time" of the year award either.

I was right. You came back for someone else. You pushed through those doors and rescued her. At the time I couldn't decide whether to smack you for the way you left, cry, be jealous, or hug you. I didn't know whether to fume or fawn. I just wanted to throw myself on the ground in a full blown temper tantrum screaming _'What about me?!?!_ That was answered shortly through a decision to meet up later.

And so here we are. We are supposed to be having a talk, but it's funny because I have been watching the clock tick for fifteen minutes now. Our talk was brief, more like you recounting the past months and me listening. You told me about not being able to contact me. You told me skeletal facts about staying with the group. You confided in me that you felt differently than when you left—about a lot of things. Including me. You told me you wish our last conversation could have ended differently, but that we couldn't change that. You ended by telling me that whatever you had been planning to say the next day didn't matter because that was then and this was now. And now, you couldn't give me what I wanted, what I deserved. You needed time to sort yourself back out—alone. You still wanted to be friends, but you didn't know if you would ever want anything else. And that's when I started watching the second hand. You were asking me to do the one thing I was incapable of. Love you less. I guess I was asking you the same. But for you, it was love me more. Where do we even go from there? I didn't know what to say. I had been anticipating this day secretly for ages. God. Now I just felt … done. I listened to you and felt the emotions just draining out of me. I probably had a puddle of emotions beside my pinky toe. Tick. Tick. Tick. I didn't know what to say. Tick. Tick. Tick. How could I tell you I was too tired to fight for you, but I didn't want to let you go either.

After about thirty minutes, you told me you were going. You said you had a new apartment that you weren't telling people about yet. You needed time. (Like I had forgotten the conversation we just had). You said you understood that I needed time to process it. And then you did it. You were getting up to leave and said it again. "I don't want to walk out this door and never see you again Casey. I –"

"Don't you _fucking _say that. Don't you fucking say that again to me Olivia! You don't want to never see me again? But you also don't want to see me? You don't want to come out of hiding? You just want me to push all my feelings aside. For an undetermined-possibly-forever amount of time?! You want me to just be a friend? A buddy? But you won't tell me where you _live_. That's not even friendship. That's nothing! I am not a fucking _shirt_ you can wear when it's in season and pack away when it isn't!" I couldn't believe your gall at repeating what had happened. I was furious at you. God! But all I wanted, even in my fury, was for you to magically change your mind. When I looked over at you, you were just as drained looking as I was. It broke my heart. What had we become? You spoke very softly as you were leaving.

"Casey, I'm sorry. I won't disappear like last time. But I also can't give you what you need right now."

As you slipped out I whispered after you, "Well … you know how to find me."


End file.
